


Wait a minute!

by orphan_account



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Big Bill and Stan the Man are just side characters sorry, Eddie beats up Richie.. gasp!, I'm rusty I'm sorry, M/M, NOT CLICKBAIT!, Richie pisses Eddie off, The characters are tagged in order of appearance, This is ooc for both Eddie and Richie, they love each other but they are stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 22:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20460566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ignorance is bliss, right?Richie doesn't understand how relationships work and Eddie is more than happy to show him just how they work.





	Wait a minute!

A thrumming red hot rage simmered in his veins as he read the text message from Big Bill.

**Bill, ** _ read _ ** (1:14pm)**

_ Stan said he's with Rich at the park. Something up with you two? _

Tattered shoes scrape against the pavement in a way only a man would do to bide his time while on the way to his destination.

With his cheek between his teeth and thumbs furiously typing back a quick response,

**Myself, **_sent_ **(1:18pm)**

_ Thanks Bill. No we're fine don't worry. See you at the movies tomorrow! _ 💕

Eddie felt his eyes burning. Not from tears but from the little bit of sleep he has managed over the past few days.

Exhaustion rattles around in his stomach, branching out toward his limbs. Managing to simultaneously ache and weigh his entire body. The dullness of his bones coupled with the blood rushing to the surface of his skin corces his skin to run hotter than usual. It starts with a tingle in the soles of his feet, then a static coursing through his veins, and ends with a blush resting over the apples of his cheeks. It is neither too cold or too hot to excuse the redness of his skin. The way no sweat forms on his brow, the rise and fall of his chest, and the balls of his fists as he approaches. Quickly he scans his phone screen:

**Bill, (1:19pm)**

_ Oh c'mon Eddie don't do that. We can make your favorite cookies and talk about it. Come over maybe? _

Shoving his phone into his pocket Eddie heaves a sigh as if releasing a thin, wispy smoke from his lungs. He purposefully ignores the sweet message from Bill knowing that talking with an outsider about an issue between him and one other person would do him no good. It wouldn't end well for Bill. The gait in his walk a smidgen more aggressive than usual. Nonetheless he marches on never deterring himself from his mission even as the ground shifts quickly; cement, grass, pavement, gravel, then cement again.

Once more, Eddie is beside himself with an _ almost _ all-consuming rage. It fuels him. Keeps his legs moving and operable despite lacking the energy from food and sleep to do so. In all his anger Eddie is not blind. He is able to see just fine. The strangers that are in his way have one chance if not half of that to get out of his way before he slams half his body into them or either not hearing his request to move or caring to move. 

Six days. Four less from making itself a double digit number. Had it reached that number Eddie would have exploded from rage and likely needed just as many days to cool down before doing anything _ too _ rash. See, Eddie does not get mad he gets irritated. He snaps acutely enough for anyone (namely Richie) to understand he has had enough in the moment. It takes a certain degree of stupidity or carelessness to genuinely infuriate Eddie to the point of well, _ now _.

Silence. It can be deafening. Though to Eddie it is a sign of the worst thing possible. A line of communication being cut in two with a pair of scissors.

  


Messages sent to **Mouthbreather Tozier**:

**Friday,** _sent_. **(2:34am)**

_ Did you make it home safe? _

**Saturday,** _sent_. **(11:11am)**

_ You okay, Richie? _

**Saturday,** _sent_. **(8:39pm)**

_ Make sure you're eating _

**Monday,** _sent_. **(7:35am)**

_ Rich? _

**Tuesday,** _read_. **(3:45pm)**

_ You know I'm not mad right? _

**Wednesday,** _sent_. **(9:16pm)**

_ Sorry been sleeping, hope ur ok _

**Thursday,** _read_. **(5:55am)**

_ Hey! You wanna hang out? Bill wants to watch a movie with us on Friday. Same place and time _

  


Silence is worse than being called a fag and being beat up by the Bowers gang. That is at least something he can wash down with bottles of rubbing alcohol and ibuprofen. But being ignored is not something he can deal with in the slightest.

Nothing about his childhood was him being ignored. Sonia always doted on him, in the wrong ways yes, but she was always there. A bit overbearing as well, but she was always there. In, what Eddie hoped was, the sweetest way possible he wanted to do that with his friends. None of them minded the closeness and sentiments that attached themselves to the mindset aside from Richie. See Richie's home life exactly mirrored Eddie's. No one doted on him. No one cared about him. No one was there for him. Eddie was going to change that whether Richie liked it or not.

This is not the first time this has happened. No, not at all. And it won't be the last. But the last time it did happen, as these things do, they managed to work things through. Eddie is understanding. As much as he can be. There is nothing more in the world that he wants than to have Richie Tozier by his side. But he can't have that if Richie views every small spat they have as the ending of their friendship. So, maybe Eddie is a little angry. A tad peeved. Perhaps even a little pissy.

As Eddie finds his target he plants himself in front of said target. Feet about six inches apart from one another, a wide stance for a man of his calibre and height. Forearms come to rest against his stomach as they cross aggressively. As quickly as they cross they do the opposite. A sandy blonde that Eddie barely cares to acknowledge at this point and time, (Stanley, he believes but he can't be too sure, not that it matters in this moment) backs away slowly from Richie. A nervous smile settles on Richie's pale face adorned with sunspots.

Before he can even utter a word Eddie clasps a hand on his best friend's shoulder, a ghost of a twitching smile on his mouth. He's feeling testy. Eddie uses a gentle hand to grip the shoulder feeling the bone between his thumb and middle finger, then raises his knee to land a blow against Richie's unprotected stomach. This doubles the trashmouth over instantly. A few people stop to stare but Eddie's cold eyes tell them that there is no god damn show to watch here.

Richie holds onto his stomach as he fights the urge to curl up into a fetal position. Instead he clutches onto his torso while resting on his knees, groaning. Now Eddie waits for him to open his mouth and say, _ What was that for Eds? _

But, for once, Richie says nothing instead opting to grumble about the sudden pain blossoming around the hit. Unable to even make eye contact with Eddie as a foot comes to rest on his shoulder, pushing him backwards onto the ground. There is no fight to be put up because Richie is busy acknowledging his wrongdoing and allowing Eddie a way to vent his frustrations.

Six days of silence. No calls, no texts, no responses, no nothing. Cold turkey.

The body below him on the ground is defenceless and pliant. Even as Eddie kneels down to sit on top of Richie's waist, there is no exchange of words. Only glances and huffs of breath. It's easy to see the rage flowing from Eddie. This is the point where Richie knows it's better to shut up and listen then to open his mouth and try to talk his way out of it. There is only one way to talk himself out of this and he has to wait until Eddie has settled down just a bit. It's all about timing, Richie has learned.

Eddie raises a hand unsure of whether to slap or suckerpunch Richie. His hand confused as the wires in his brain cannot decide whether he likes or dislikes Richie in this exact moment. Halfheartedly he brings his hand down in frustration. Had Richie not caught his wrist it would have landed awkwardly against his jaw.

"I'm sorry." Richie says, voice full of guilt and shame. Though monotonous Eddie can hear it and see it in his eyes. The words he speaks are meaningful and it is among the few things he wants to receive from the trashmouthed boy.

"For?" Eddie clicks his tongue after uttering the single word. Richie can use his brain and fill in the gaps of the bigger question. Unaccepting of an apology for now as the red rage dies down slowly. Molasses is starting to coats his veins as he feels himself beginning to forgive just a bit. The tauntness of his spine loosening while the red in his eyes begin to blur and fade. Whilst sugar coats his veins Eddie even finds himself okay with the fact that Richie is gripping at his wrist and limiting his movements in doing so. Making sure that he cannot hit him again for being so mindblowingly stupid.

"Ignoring you." He continues quietly. In an effort to make this conversation between the two of them lest someone were straining to hear their exchange. 

"Do it again and I will **kill** you." There is a malevolence floating about his tone which leaves the Tozier boy stiff in the spine. The threat of death does not scare him. Hell, if he were to die he would rather it be by Eddie's hands than anyone else's. No, what frightens him is the seriousness embedded in the tone. The threat and promise that Eddie expressed. The anger and frustration the smaller boy exudes allows Richie to truly realize that he has in very few words, "fucked up." Eddie is serious about him and sometimes Richie wishes he could stop to realize it instead of being stuck in his head. But Eddie is great at pulling him out of the depths of the world in his mind.

"I just.. thought we were o—" It seeps back in, laces itself in his tone, and shakes his vocal cords. The fear, the uneasiness, the fact that Eddie may dislike him even more after pulling a stunt like this _ again _. 

"Richie we've been through this. Just because we have one small fight doesn't mean we are over. We can talk things out. Instead of going ghost and deciding things for yourself, right?" A gentle voice comes out to greet Richie, very obviously exasperated but in an endearing way. The sort of tone to be used with a child after being naughty, caught doing something they were not supposed to do. 

"Right. I'm sorry, Eds." A breathless smile spreads across Richie's face as his grip loosens. Exhausted he lies down against the dewy grass looking up at Eddie who looks about ready to pinch his cheeks out of spite. There is a sense of relief that floods his body like endorphins struggling to find their place.

"It's okay Rich, we're okay." Eddie breathes, easy and calm. Heart rabbiting in his chest despite having the anger dissipate slowly from his body.

Reaching downward Eddie grasps Richie's limps hands into his own and pulls them to rest in his lap. In an effort to soothe the trashmouth below him. It works a sufficient amount but Eddie doesn't feel relief until Richie is wriggling his fingers around in his hold.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments... I Work Hard (sort of).


End file.
